


Don't Say It

by ActualHurry



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, The Dawning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-23 01:14:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17070689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ActualHurry/pseuds/ActualHurry
Summary: The Dawning is not something the Drifter has any intention of celebrating.(Takes place post-reveal of the Renegade as Shin.)





	Don't Say It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Agent_24](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agent_24/gifts).



> Happy Dawning, @Agent_24 :) You've been so inspirational, motivating, and wonderful to me. I hope this measures up to all your soft, splendid, subtle Shin/Drif desires.

The exact second that the Drifter heard a knock at his ugly grate entrance, he knew something had to be _extremely fucking wrong._ Something had gone so ass-backwards wrong that he would be better off transmatting back to the Derelict, goin’ a billion and two miles away, and never lookin’ back. He seized up at his worktable, didn’t dare peek behind him, and slowly inserted the ammo cartridge into his gun, because ammo was a classic, and the Dark Ages did a helluva lotta things right, even when they got things real, real wrong.

Still. Could be that no amount of ammo would get whoever-whatever it was off his doorstep. Drifter ran through all possibilities in his mind. No Guardians of his would bother knockin’, they would just waltz in and make grabby hands at any and every little spoil he had available. Zombie Iron Lords, for all the shit he put ‘em through back in the day. Callum’s ex, for gettin’ him killed, sure. Callum’s other ex, ‘cuz for some reason the guy’d been kinda popular until he’d gone screaming off the deep end. Oryx’s posse. Mara Sov? Nah, nah, busy shackin’ up with Shaxx, _ha_. Lucky queen. Shin Malphur was, of course, the obvious answer, and the one that made his chest constrict, but Shin usually just walked in the door and pushed him into bed. Or the wall. Or over his worktable. Or, Drifter thought with a delightful shiver, that one time he’d–

Apparently his paranoia made him drag his feet too long, because there came another knock, and then Drifter decided none of the people he’d thought about had that kinda patience to kill him, so he turned around, gun in hand, and demanded, “ _Whaddya want?_ ”

Kadi 55-30’s light bloomed and dimmed back at him through the grate. “Greetings! I’m so sorry to bother you.”

“That’s… fine,” said Drifter hesitantly, walking over. He didn’t duck beneath the grate, but he did glance down at the small box that Kadi held in her thin frame arms. “You lost or somethin’?”

“No,” she said, then awkwardly gestured with the box. “This is for you. It’s been in the back of our office since the start of the Dawning, you see, and, well.”

“Well,” echoed Drifter, staring at it.

“I was tired of looking at it,” Kadi admitted, and then just kept on standing there.

Drifter waited a beat, though the honesty tickled him. It wasn’t an ugly box… wasn’t pretty, neither, but still. Wasn’t an eyesore by any means. It was square and light brown and probably not a bomb, but if it was, it was a nice bomb, considerin’ someone had taken the time to put a green ribbon ‘round the packaging. Kinda sweet.

“You sure you got the right place?” Drifter asked then, to make sure.

She sounded uncertain when she replied, “You _are_ the Drifter, aren’t you?”

“Hey, hey, hey!” He waved his hands, _keep your voice down!_ “Ikora’s right over there, don’t you rat me out now!” Kadi looked in Ikora’s direction and then back over at him. Drifter dropped his his arms, scowling. “Alright, just – gimme the thing, I’ll take care of it.”

He lifted the gate up to let her hand it over, examining the box this way and that. It didn’t look dangerous, but then again, quite a few dangerous things didn’t look any sort of dangerous ‘til you let ‘em close enough.

“Happy Dawning, Drifter!” called Kadi as she left, and he jumped back into the shadow of his little alley.

“Damn it,” he muttered. He tossed the box into a worktable drawer and slammed it shut.

 

Two days later, he still hadn’t opened the gift, and the Dawning’s end was sneaking closer and closer. Truth be told, Drifter nearly forgot about it with all the talk ‘round of things going on in the Dreaming City. He wasn’t a fool; he knew he had plenty of admirers in the Guardians that came to play Gambit, knew that he could smile and wave them off with a little _ooh_ in their ear next time they pulled off a pretty play in Gambit, and that’d be enough. He’d gotten little presents from them before, but nothing as particularly damning as a _Dawning_ present.

In fact, he’d completely let it slip his mind until Shin showed up.

They had their usual romp(s), the air chillier than usual up here on the City wall thanks to all the Warlocks making it snow. Drifter didn’t like it at all, and it made him grumpy like nothing else, but Shin knew how to make him unwind. Which was saying a lot. And really, he didn’t enjoy the implication, but when a dangerously handsome and/or handsomely dangerous man was knuckle-deep in him, he wasn’t about to whine. Sex made the alley feel that much warmer, at least.

Shin was wearing the most basic layer of his gear – undershirt, cloak only half-slung over a shoulder, pants complete with an unbuckled belt and holster – and Drifter was still lazing around, which wasn’t anything new. He was all curled up in two sets of blankets while Shin was pulling on his boots. He didn’t dare fall asleep with Shin Malphur in the same space as him, but he did nearly doze off.

Only thing that woke him up proper was the sound of Shin asking, “What’s this?”

Drifter opened his eyes, brows furrowed with the effort of consciousness after three orgasms over the span of a couple hours, and then blinked at the sight of the little brown box, held lightly between Shin’s fingers.

“Oh, that,” Drifter said, and then sat up completely, like he had something to explain. “A gift. Or a bomb.”

Shin looked at him.

Drifter shrugged. “I ain’t blown up yet.”

Shin turned it around, upside-down, and still nothing exploded, so Drifter ticked off ‘definitely not a bomb’ in his head.

“For the Dawning?” Shin asked him, still studying the box. Drifter wanted to tell him that scrutinizing it wasn’t about to solve the meaning of the Traveler’s existence or help him to get over his list of issues, or anything _useful_ , but instead he just barked a laugh.

“Yeah, I know, right? Who’d get me anything? Somebody with a fucked sense of humor. Or warped reality.” So, most Guardians. “Or… somebody tryin’ to con me into somethin’.”

“Con you into what exactly?” Shin replied, sounding almost amused. “Dinner?”

“Hey, that’s a prime opportunity for poisonin’ me.”

“Then a night on the town.”

“Y’mean a chance to shank me while my back’s turned.”

“One night stand?”

“C’mon,” scoffed Drifter, “May as well slit my own throat and save ‘em the trouble.”

Shin fixed him with a particularly long, curious expression. Drifter couldn’t place it. And then it was gone as he put the box down on Drifter’s worktable.

“Headin’ out already?” Drifter asked, watching him.

“Maybe,” Shin said, but then he sat down on the edge of the mattress and dragged the sheets back, and Drifter tugged him in with a wild grin.

 

To say that Drifter was haunted by some things would be massively understating it, but the most recent thing to haunt him was that fuckin’ box. It just sat there where Shin had left it, out in the open, hangin’ out on his worktable. He hadn’t touched it. The most he’d done was glare at it while he kitbashed another gun together. To put the box back in the drawer would be admitting something, and Drifter could count on one hand the number of times he’d been honest about _anything_.

It was the next to last day of the Dawning by the time he worked up the furious energy that was at once both manic enough and directed enough to actually open the thing. He yanked off the green ribbon and pulled off the top in one messy go, glared at the thin paper keeping whatever was in the box hidden, and then he flung that outta it too.

And then he stared down inside.

The only thing remaining in the box was a neat leather strap, thin but sturdy and tightly folded. The simplicity somehow left nothing more to be desired, the material strong, and the color authentic. It looked like something he’d scrounge up for himself, and then he bit his tongue with rueful jealousy and thought no, it looked _better_ than that. He stared, uncomprehending, then shook the feeling away.

Only one thing left for it.

He had his Ghost save the matter blueprint, and then he pulled out a couple more of the exact same straps using a Glimmer store he hadn’t touched yet. And then he wrapped one of the straps around an Auto Rifle, custom-made, complete with a buncha Dark Age tech he’d saved special for the occasion.

“It needs somethin’ else,” Drifter muttered, his Ghost floating up and down hastily in agreement. Snapping his fingers with realization, Drifter dug in his pockets, revealing a handful of Gambit coins. His Ghost zoomed to his palm, looking up at him and then back at the coins with silent glee.

Drifter attached a coin to the leather and smiled. “There we go,” he breathed, almost reverent.

The Guardians would love the hell outta this gun once they got it. It was a pretty piece. Looked good. He’d make a few more, just to keep them comin’ back, but that he could quickly do with some clever matter programming and transmatting, no real need to kill himself workin’ on ‘em.

He was dusting off his dirty hands when his eye was caught by a different gun model.

Drifter could think of a lotta reasons not to chase the idea that struck him then. It was dark out, which meant he had about twenty hours to get it done, and for the amount of specializing he was gonna have to do, he wasn’t sure twenty hours cut it. And that wasn’t even mentioning how much he _never did_ what he was thinkin’ about. Drifter felt all outta sorts just _considering_ it.

But he grabbed the new gun and started working, a string of swears under his breath and a thousand pounds of pressure in his ribcage.

His Ghost rolled its eye.

 

This wasn’t going to happen if the one damn variable Drifter had no control over didn’t show, of course. He’d live in infamy (even more so) if it got out to the guy, so he had no intention of letting it be known, _ever_ , if things didn’t go to plan. But so far, things had a tendency of falling into place wherever The Man with the Golden Gun was concerned, so Drifter would grin and bear it until the last possible second if he had to. And hell, was it getting close.

The sun was low in the sky by the time Shin showed up. Drifter didn’t breathe out a sigh of relief, but he did feel every muscle in his body go loose. It was probably the only time his nerves’d straightened out with Shin around.

“Hey,” Drifter said as Shin shut the grate. Shin looked at him, the helmet coming off in a quick transmat. “Think fast.”

Drifter threw a hand cannon at him and, exhausted he may’ve been, laughed riotously at Shin’s wide-eyed expression right before reflexes took over and he caught it.

“What’s…” And then Shin seemed to realize what he was looking at.

The gun itself had a longer, stronger barrel than any other cannon Drifter’d seen ‘round. A holosight laid on top, nothing special, though instead of the green advertising he’d put on Breakneck’s sight, Shin’s cannon had a simple, elegant design. The gun was a deep black, almost tauntingly so. He’d made sure it matched Shin’s usual style. No sense in makin’ a gun somebody wasn’t going to make use of. Some deep buried part of Drifter hoped to hell Shin would shoot a lotta things with it, for nothin’ other than the nice piece of work it was.

Drifter saw the exact moment that Shin glanced down at the custom grip. Leather, wrapped ‘round leather, wrapped ‘round leather. The recognition that flashed through his eyes was enough confirmation for Drifter to give himself a mental pat on the back, though the sudden urge to puke over the side of the Wall was equally tempting.

“Figured you could use a new cannon. Considerin’.” Drifter cleared his throat. “So, how ‘bout that dinner?”

Shin met his gaze after a second, a strange tone to his voice as he asked, “Ain’t scared I’ll poison you?”

“So long as you ain’t scared ‘bout me stabbin’ your back while we walk.” Drifter felt like he was about to catch on fucking _fire_.

“Scared’s a strong word,” Shin said slowly. “Might be that I’m… concerned.”

“Aren’t we just two peas in a pod,” Drifter drawled.

It was one helluva standoff. No guns involved, except for the one Shin was holding, finger off the trigger. Dangerous. _Dangerous_.

They went down to the City, anyway. Both of ‘em, together, as subtle as two famous and infamous men could. Before they left, Drifter didn’t miss that Shin quietly replaced the gun in his holster with the one he’d given him.


End file.
